Keen Eyes in the Dark
by Theconfusedhobbit
Summary: SnapexLily Main char their daughter Wendyl(Dill) Snape & Lily's relationship seemed doomed when they were sorted in the most opposed Hogwarts houses. Dumbledore helped Severus a little faster this time & Lily was able to lead him to the right path. However, not everyone can let go of the past. Can Dill help everyone see past the darkness that blinds them? Rowling owns Harry Potter
1. Chapter 1

Green eyed and of average height, with sleek black hair and somewhat sallow skin, not to mention a slight dusting of freckles about the nose, Wendyl Snape was a bright, inconspicuous girl. She had lived most of her life in a mostly shaded house on a partly shady street, and perhaps, from moving so constantly from shade to sun, she had learned to bring her presence in and out of focus, like a broken and battered microscope. Her family, the Snapes, lived in a quieter part of London, where the watery sunlight shone on shingled roofs and dust bin lids- and, occasionally, the odd puff of unexplained smoke that rose furtively towards the clouds. The witches and wizards in Wendyl's neighborhood were rather few, and older than her. The muggle children laughed at her sallow skin and clung to their mother's skirts when she made faces in return, so Dill was not often surrounded by children like herself. However, that was about to change.

The September sunlight shone on her dull lustre, like that of worsted silk, as she moved through the crowded train station. Her mother pushed a cart laden with her school trunk and a basket which was hissing spasmodically. She tossed her brilliant red hair from side to side, speaking to Dill and her father almost at once. Her father was quieter, replying once in a while to what Lily said, and observing the station watchfully. Severus Snape's subdued air seemed to produce an inciting contrast to his wife's excitement, and he smiled inadvertently as she brushed a strand of red hair away from her mouth to free the flow of animated speech, her green eyes flashing with joy. "Look, Sev, there's Amelia with her sister…and little Susan in tow!…could that be Nott and Goyle? Wonder who they had to threaten to get wives..." she elbowed him, with a sidelong smirk. "Hey, Sev, they were your friends once, weren't they?" Snape scowled. "Let's avoid them. This way…". Dill glanced at her father's impassive coal black eyes and followed, curious but silent.

They reached the space between platforms 9 and 10 and waited for the crowd of muggle commuters to thin. Her mother stepped forward and began to push the cart through the barrier. Wendyl quickly caught hold of her sleeve and felt herself pulled forward. Blinking, she looked around. A long scarlet steam engine was pulled along the tracks, and steam covered the platform. A confused chaos of shapes and sounds were the immediate passengers. Above, a smoky shaft of sunlight laddered across the sign _9 ¾ ._ Wendyl followed the trajectory of her arm, and her green eyes mirrored her mother's. Lily was smiling down at her. "Well?".

Her father appeared behind them, and they made their way towards the train. Lily lifted the quieted demonic basket from the cart and Severus pointed his wand at the trunk, causing it to rise and hover inside the compartment. Dill hugged her mother tightly, inhaling the familiar scent and locking it inside her heart. "You'll write me, mum?". She had asked it before, but time seemed jumbled that day. "Of course, Wendy," her mother murmured, brushing Dill's black hair away from her face. " Don't mess with the whomping willow, and stay out of trouble- or at least, don't get caught." They both grinned. " And don't trust boys-" she stole a glance at Severus. "Especially childhood friends." Her father, who had been studying the crowd and had pretended not to hear that last bit, came up to them. "Good luck, Wendyl." He seemed uneasy suddenly and murmured, "There is someone you should be wary of-" a loud whistle cut him off. Lily, who had not heard him, bustled her daughter onto the train. Dill looked back at her father, confusion vying with excitement and a nervous apprehension.

The train lurched backwards suddenly and began to move. Dill quickly pressed herself to the side of the door frame and caught a last fleeting glimpse of her parents- her mother, an expression of joy and sadness discernable through the frenzy of dark red hair tossed by the wind, and her father, one hand on her shoulder and the other raised in a half wave of farewell.

As the Hogwarts express gained speed, the wind whipped her hair about and plastered it to her face. Tucking it behind her ear, Wendyl turned and began to make her way down the narrow corridor. This was not easy, as it was filled with people of varying heights and tempers, who pushed about and chattered loudly, their owls, cats, and frogs adding to the din. As she passed the glass doored compartments, Dill looked out of the corners of her eyes into each one, hearing snatches of conversation and laughter.

Towards the middle of the train the corridor became relatively empty, and Dill paused next to an invitingly quiet compartment, whose door was teasingly ajar. She slid the door open, and, seeing nothing but several battered seats and some rather lumpy shadows, sat down. The Express was nearing the country, and she gazed out the window at the hills and occasional cow flicking by. A sudden sound, halfway between a snore and a grunt, startled her from her reverie. The shadows across from her had come alive. Dill watched nervously as a mass of black robes unfolded themselves and sat up, revealing a shock of short, peach colored hair. "Whazzatime?" the apparition mumbled. "Er- we've just left, recently" Dill stammered. "I'm sorry-" the person mumbled something inaudibly, and then blinked at Dill bemusedly. "Who're you?" "Wendyl-Wendyl Snape. And you?" "Pamela Withers, first year. This your first time, too?" Dill nodded. "I hear there's supposed to be a food trolley, but so far no one (other than you) has been breaking down my door to offer any life saving grub" Pamela grumbled. Dill hemmed and hawed in apologetic sympathy. Feeling a bit guilty for intruding, she reached into her pocket for the sandwich her mother had insisted on making. "You can have half, if you like. I'm not really hungry." The other girl's eyes widened. "Really? Thanks! I'm always starving." Eagerly accepting the proffered sandwich, she stuffed it into her mouth and chewed with an expression of ecstasy. Dill laughed, and took a bite of her own. It was good. Pamela watched her approvingly, if not a little enviously, as Dill gulped the rest of her sandwich-half down.

"My gran always puts mayonnaise in her sandwiches" the peach hair informed her, with a rueful grin.

"Oh."

"I live with my gran, and she has the worst obsession with mayo. I think she might've named me mayo, if my parent's will didn't have a say in it. Pamela's almost as bad, though: it's frightfully old-maidish. That's why you must call me Pam."

The peach-haired girl suddenly gave such a look that, forthwith, nobody disagreed with her on the point.

Pam and Dill continued to talk as the landscape outside changed and the sky crept towards darkness. People were passing their once quiet corridor more often now, and presently someone opened the door. It was an older boy who seemed to be looking for someone. "Not here, then" he said, upon seeing them. "Say, have you seen Wood?" Dill shook her head, but Pam piped up; "If he's any sense, he's looking for me. I'll be able to play next year, you know." The boy laughed. "You're the one who was making a ruckus outside Flint's compartment, weren't you? Little first year Withers, already raring to be on the team. You don't even know what house you're in yet." Pam jutted her chin out defiantly. "That's why it's good to know people beforehand" she said. Dill, who had become uneasy when houses were mentioned, jumped a little when the boy, half turning to her, said; " You might want to take a tip from your friend here; she's not assuming too much about houses yet, it seems. What were your parent's houses?" "Well," Dill said hesitantly, "My mum was a Gryffindor, and-" "My whole family's been in Gryffindor for ages!" he broke in. "What's your mum's maiden name?" "Evans." He grinned. "I didn't know there were any Evans' aboard-" "No, you wouldn't." Dill said quickly. "I'm a Snape."

The boy's smile drooped, and he looked uncomfortable. "Oh, well, er… I've got to find Wood, broken broom and all that- good luck, Pam- maybe you'll be Gryffindors." With that, he left, hurriedly closing the door behind him. Pam huffed indignantly. "Well, I don't know if I _want_ to be a Gryffindor, if they're that bad at recruiting." Dill smiled weakly, glad that Pam hadn't noticed the change in the room. She stared at the darkened window blankly, and as Pam's voice grew fainter in her ears, her thoughts took her to another day, not too long ago.

Severus and Lily were sitting in the kitchen, bickering. A thick parchment envelope with a scarlet seal lay on the table between them. Dill sat on the floor, staring up at the wooden grain of the table, not completely understanding some things her mother said- half finished sentences that seemed to carry greater meaning with them. " …from a long line of Slytherins, however." "And a Gryffindor on my side-" " It might not be enough to have wrought any change, I'm afraid… if it's necessary. I trust her, though." Lily looked slightly disapproving, but she caught Dill's eye and smiled. "Just choose carefully, Wendy" she teased.

Dill pulled on her robes and stuffed her wand in her pocket. It was 9 inches long and of poplar wood, with a unicorn hair whose exact location Dill could only guess at. She ran her thumb over the handle and felt a small surge of excitement. They were almost there. Pam had fallen asleep a while ago, and the slowly rocking compartment was still save for the occasional snore or hiss. Dill picked up the basket and began to murmur a few words of comfort. Suddenly, the train lurched to a halt. Pam snorted and sat up. Dill, glad that she was holding her parcel, peeked out of the door. A cool night breeze filled the corridor, and black cloaked shapes hurried along it. She pushed the door open. A voice behind her said, "Well, see you at the feast, er-" Dill's stomach lurched. The feast. "Yeah, bye" she said distractedly, letting herself be swept along by the crowd that was flowing towards the door. Pam watched her leave, frowning slightly, and then went back inside for her shoes.

The night air was cool, and Dill cradled the basket to her chest as she followed the other first years down the embankment. The boats were small and oar-less, and she stared critically at one of them before nimbly climbing in. She was joined by Pam and two boys that she didn't know. The boys' hair was dark like hers, so Pam's head stood out in the gloom. She seemed about to say something, but just then the giant in the furthermost boat shouted a command, and they sped forward across the black surface of the lake. Dill watched the large castle come closer and felt a strange, thrilling feeling bubble up inside of her. The stars slid along and slipped behind a shadow. The first years clambered out of their boats and followed Hagrid out of the cave and up the steps of the castle. Inside, Dill spent a few agonizing moments trying to gather her thoughts as she stared fixedly at the high ceilings. Then it was time. They walked through the doors of the great hall.


	2. Chapter 2

Dill stifled a gasp. A plethora of candles overwhelmed her eyes, rising in a shimmering cloud towards the high vaulted ceiling as though the stars on the enchanted surface had fallen and come to rest there, blazing upon the hundreds of faces that were turned towards her. The faces, with their ever-present rustling shadows, were seated along four long tables that stretched to meet a slightly raised dais. Upon it sat a shorter table accompanied by several taller, more presiding onlookers. The people around Dill began to move, and she stumbled forward, moving across the flagstones. Reflections of the candles winked at her from every golden plate and goblet. Her stomach writhed. She stared accusingly at the battered hat that was awaiting them on a small stool in front of the dais. She had waited, traveled so long on the train, and crossed a deep lake. Now an intangible, shining something was waiting for her at a distance that her feet would soon close- and yet, the tattered sorting hat blocked her path, looming before her in the unsure light. She remembered the expression of the boy on the train and dropped her eyes.

The severe looking woman who had met them at the door began calling names. Dill briefly forgot her tumultuous thoughts and watched as one by one her fellow first years climbed onto the rickety stool and donned the wide brimmed, loud voiced hat. Its' first ejaculation of "GRYFFINDOR!" startled her, but as everyone continued to stare at the millinery marvel with the polite interest of an orchestra audience, she soon grew familiar and sank back into her brooding thoughts. A dark haired boy beside her, whom she dimly recognized from the little boat, was shifting uncomfortably. The line was getting shorter. In the candlelight, something about her neighbor's features seemed familiar, although Dill attributed this to having recently traveled with him. Still, his dark hair and sallow skin reminded her of…Dill shook her head slightly, as if trying to discourage a doxie. It was surely her nerves – but the boy almost resembled her father. She dismissed this thought hastily, for it made her think of her parents. Would other people's smiles change like the broken broom boy's had- when they heard that small word, Snape?

It was a small, five letter word, yet it took up half of her defining existence. Evans was lighter and commonplace- one time, sick of getting looks when she walked into respectable shops as a Snape, she had told the slightly confused muggle clerk, who recognized the name, that she was an Evans. She didn't tell her father, who seemed to have a half materialized dislike of muggles. From the dim memories she had of his family, she knew that they shunned the name, taking pride in their pure-blooded Prince ancestors- a fact that, strangely, gave Severus a twisted smile. She had asked him about it once, but he only told her that her cousins' father was his uncle, a Snape. Obviously this small definition was satisfactory to him, but she was still confused. Always confused and unsettled at the contradictory reactions her two names brought. Always unsure of how to handle her parents' opposing pasts- and she wondered, why should their pasts have to have such a heavy effect on her future?

Dill blinked upwards, coming back to the Sorting. In her daze, the line had dwindled drastically. Her shifting neighbor was shifting up to the stool, but she had no nervousness left to feel. Blankly she watched his progress as a voice uttered, "Snape, Septimus."

Dill stared. Her mouth opened. A slight buzzing sound filled her ears, but if it was bees or conversation, she didn't know. Had the voice really said Snape? Yes. The boy was walking up to the stool. Snape. Septimus. Her cousin. He sat down. Through her surprise, she recognized him. He was older now, but she remembered the times, years ago, when she had gone over to her cousins' house. Playing with her favorite baby cousin-the twins-

"Snape, Seizeus."

Yes, there he was- the perfect counterpart of his brother. Another dulled jolt of surprise passed as he walked forward similarly, expected this time. Yes, she should have expected this- but she hadn't seen her cousins in years, ever since their mother called Lily a Mudblood, and Snape took them home in a temper.

The hole in the hat opened.

"SLYTHERIN!"

Several heads at the table farthest to the left nodded in approval, even as hisses came from the right. Well, it was to be expected, Dill thought, with a slightly sick feeling in her stomach. That was what everyone thought. Defiance rose up in her, and then sank back a bit, confused. Who could she direct it against?

"…Snape, Wendyl" the voice repeated.

Dill blinked, surprised. She had almost forgotten it was her turn. Slightly dazed, she walked up to the stool and sat down. The hat fell over her head.

The inside of the hat was dark. A surprisingly small voice murmured, "Well, now, we have some conflict in here… but don't you know the good choice? Your mother…" Lily's face flashed across her mind, followed by Snape's. As if sensing her thoughts, the hat said, "Ah, yes, but there _is_ that too. I sense more than a little ambition…and even you know it wouldn't be that surprising to anyone-so why not choose Sssss-" _No, no!_ Dill thought in desperation. She was hardly aware of her own thoughts; they were whirling around frantically, skirling- but the thrilling feeling from the lake had returned, and it seemed to guide them. As she thought of the unwonted glances, the whispers, the stern faces of her aunt and uncle, and her parents, the thoughts and images seemed to crowd around her very eyes, blocking out any trace of light or reason. She was groping in the dark. She didn't want to be predictable- she knew she was different, wanted to be different with such a blinding intensity that the darkest, most cobwebby prejudices would have to be swept away in her wake. The feeling inside of her bubbled blindly up to the surface. _It must change,_ Dill thought fervently. _I_ _must see a way through this accursed, ignorant darkness!_

The hat was silent for an instant. Then it said, "Keep using your head that way, and you'll do fine in RAVENCLAW!"

Dill lifted the hat off her head slowly, blinking in the sudden light. The sound had come back- she hadn't noticed its' absence. Shaking slightly, she got off the stool and walked towards the table beneath the silver and blue banner that was cheering her. She smiled suddenly. Cheering their new Ravenclaw.

Dill sat down next to a pretty girl with shiny black hair. As the cheers died down, she felt joy and relief flood through her being, leaving her exhilarated and a bit tired. Looking back at the Sorting Hat, Dill suddenly realized that she had blanked out during her cousin's sorting. What house was Septimus in? The hat, instead of answering her silent question, proceeded to the next person. Dill looked at the Ravenclaws around her. Most of them appeared older than her, and a couple caught her eye and smiled at her welcomingly before returning their attention to the omniscient hat. Turning to her left, she was surprised to see a dark figure sitting at a distance, staring at his plate. Septimus had been sorted into Ravenclaw as well. Before Dill could speak to him, however, the girl next to her touched her arm. She turned. "Hi!" the pretty girl said, smiling. "I'm Cho Chang. I'm a second year. You can feel free to ask me anything, ok?" Dill nodded, and hurriedly said "Thanks." The enchanted ceiling grew darker. Dill noticed the hat bounce off of a light peach-head, shouting "Hufflepuff!", and saw Pam yelling her way good naturedly to the cheering table across from theirs, to a small flurry of one armed hugs and pats on the back. The Sorting soon finished, and food appeared on the golden platters. Remembering her sandwich-half, Dill grinned ironically and heaped her plate with food.

The talk at their table eventually turned to lessons, and Dill realized that she hadn't been thinking about the next day at all- so much of her energy had been focused on the feast. She listened to a couple of fifth years discussing their advanced transfiguration class, and wondered resignedly if she would survive the lessons to come. Cho helpfully refilled her empty chalice, and Dill, remembering her offer of ready answers, asked about the floating candles. "Oh, they're permanently bewitched to float there" Cho told her. "I think there's a book in the library that talks about that type of stuff, you should check it out." Dill grinned, always glad of a book recommendation.

She did not speak to Septimus at all during the meal, and he didn't seem to notice her. The shock of seeing him again after years had worn off, and was replaced by a mixture of shyness and wariness- their families had not been on very good terms since she had seen them last, and they disapproved of her father's marriage. The only memory she had that was connected to them, since then, wasn't very reassuring either. One rainy night, her uncle had appeared at their door, dripping and laughing harshly. She had watched sleepily, hidden in the hall, as her mother hurriedly made a cup of tea, and her father stood stiffly before the kitchen table his cousin was slumped at, questioning him tersely. Darius Snape Jr. had gotten into some trouble with stolen goods- Dill had heard the name Mundungus Fletcher mentioned- and was, as he said, "lyin' low" while his house was being watched by the Ministry. After that incident, vague apprehensions had plagued Dill for days, spawning half formed visions of angry Ministry officials and dark, cackling figures. She didn't know their situation anymore, but remembering her father's words at the station, Dill realized that he might have been speaking of the other Snapes. However, would even Severus have foreseen two people of that very family sorted into Ravenclaw? Dill sighed, and decided that a full stomach was enough to weigh one down. She would write her parents in the morning. And there was time, to clarify the Snape situation.

The Ravenclaw first years followed their prefects out of the Great Hall and up several staircases- some sweeping, some zigzagging, and a couple carpeted. On the way they passed a few suits of armor that saluted them, and one particularly interesting painting of a congregation of fat monks, who collectively glared at Dill for studying the shapes of their noses too intently. On they went, climbing steadily through the castle. Dill and the others began to yawn. Finally they reached a spiral staircase and began to climb, circling higher and higher like a raven searching for its' nest. "Just a bit more, now" one of the prefects said encouragingly. At the landing they reached a door with an eagle shaped knocker upon it. The prefect who had encouraged them stepped forward and knocked three times with it. The bird's beak opened, and it said; " Can a specific difference be drawn between Apparating and Disapparating?" " Movement is always movement " the prefect replied. She looked back at them and said, "That's something you'll learn in your sixth year. Whenever you want to get into the common room, you'll have to answer a question- and you won't be let in until you get it right, or someone else comes along and does. That way you learn, see." She grinned. "Might want to travel in pairs until you get the hang of it." The bird clacked its' beak approvingly, and the door swung open. They walked into a round, lofty room, which Dill realized must be in one of the towers she had seen from the lake. She yawned, and had just enough time to conceive a confused impression of books, silken hangings, and a star-studded ceiling before she was shepherded with the other girls to the door of their dormitory. Inside was another, smaller spiral staircase that lead to a crescent shaped room, with a four-poster bed in front of each of the five windows. Dill loved spiral staircases, but the sleepy, circling climbing had left her exhausted. Seeing her trunk in front of the bed to the left of the doorway, she undressed and crawled under the covers, too tired to move. She closed her eyes and thought of the starry ceiling below her, and the one above; and she fell fast asleep.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning Dill woke up unnaturally early, but that often happens when you are in a new and unusual place. She whiled away the time gazing out her window at the surrounding mountains, and watched as their tips turned from dark blue to faint violet, finally wavering on a pale bluish- grey. To her right she could see a tiny corner of the lake, bordered by dark forest. The grounds appeared still; but faint birdsong could be heard trickling through the glass.

The girls in her dormitory began to stir, and she turned from the window to get ready for the day. As Dill passed the low bedside table on the way out of the room, her fingertips brushed the dark hair ribbon lying sinuously across the polished wood, intertwining it between their thin digits. She would send an owl to her parents that day. Reaching up, Dill tied her hair back in a loose ponytail and left, closing the door softly.

The watery blue ceiling of the Great Hall was occupied by a couple of scudding clouds that morning, and ripples were left in the pumpkin juice. A small man with a shock of white hair was bobbing up and down the Ravenclaw table, handing schedules.

Dill liked professor McGonagall right away. The previous evening's impression of her stern countenance and thin mouth had belied the witty and passionate personality beneath, that Dill now saw winking at her intermittently, as if from behind a curtain, as she sat in an aisle desk of the third row in Transfiguration. The class didn't disappoint. After a lecture and a brief, but sensational transformation of the large mahogany desk at the front of the class, McGonagall caused matches to be distributed among her pupils, and informed them, beady eyed, that she expected to see needles in their place when she checked at the end of the hour. Dill looked about her a bit nervously, but, catching McGonagall's eye, hastily bent over the match she was meant to be silvering. From her glimpse around the room, she had seen that most people were muttering the spell they had learned with different inflections (a bit ridiculously, she thought) or jabbing their wands at the stubborn matchsticks. Dill stared at her own matchstick, sizing it up- although, admittedly, this did not take very long. She drew her wand and pointed it at the rosy tip. Losing confidence at the last moment as someone swept by, she muttered the spell hastily, and the words rushed, bumping, over her lips. Dill watched in disappointment as the match trembled violently and then resumed its' leisure on her desk, decidedly un-needle like.

"Speak louder, Fawcett."

The voice startled her. Looking up, Dill saw McGonagall's dull green back a couple of desks down to her right. " It is very important to say spells distinctly and clearly- that is, if you want what, for most people, are the desired results."

Dill left the unfortunate Fawcett to McGonagall's chiding, and drew her gaze slowly back to her matchstick. Leveling her wand once more at it, she took a breath. Dill let her voice confront and ease into the spell, playing every last syllable.

Dill stepped into the hallway, shoving the handful of needles that McGonagall had insisted on her transforming into her pocket. They would probably tear holes in the fabric and fall or poke out, and Dill, smiling wryly, knew McGonagall hadn't thought of that. She sat gingerly for the rest of the day, and began to sympathize with the bobbing professor Flitwick- although she could think of no good reason why _he_ should have a pocketful of needles, too.

The rest of her classes were mostly interesting but hard, and after such a miraculously successful start, Dill couldn't help but feel a bit discouraged as the day wore on. She ate dinner tiredly that evening and was dropping into an uneasy sleep, when she remembered that she had not written the letter. Grumbling sleepily at a shade, she turned over, putting it off.

As, one by one, the rest of her classes were introduced to her, Transfiguration emerged as by far Dill's favorite. She took to carrying her Transfiguration book with her wherever she went, and read it whenever she could- eventually being told off by her Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher for reading during a rather dry lesson. Slightly embarrassed, Dill worked silently until the bell rang and then hurried out of the room. She was halfway to her next class when, shifting her bag between shoulders, she glanced inside it and noticed at once the absence of a familiar spine.

Dill was standing in the Charms corridor, searching futilely for the missing book in her bag, when she saw Pam walk up slowly. She was holding something behind her back, a strange expression on her face. Dill moved towards the wall, expecting to be passed by, and was surprised when the other girl stopped directly in front of her. She drew the hand from behind her back, and it crept forward slowly, carrying a rectangular dark-covered object which Dill suddenly coveted very much.

"I found this in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class," Pam said, looking at the book. "Lucky I was early. I saw the initials in the cover, and thought it might be yours. W.S.- it's not very common, is it?" She paused, looking sheepishly at Dill, and said, " I'm probably dumb for forgetting your name. Wil-something-? W-something-dell-" Dill smiled. " My name's Wendyl."

Pam smacked a sweaty palm to her forehead, wincing slightly. "I knew it was something like that- something long and complicated" she complained from behind the hand.

"But you can call me Dill," Wendyl added helpfully. "Most people do."

Unable to restrain herself any longer, she held out her hand, and Pam, grinning, placed the book into it.

" But you know," she said suddenly, as if continuing a long conversation they had just been having, "Names are really strange. Old maid-ish or outlandish, you have to take them as they come." Dill nodded. "I used to hate my name" she professed. Pam's eyes widened. "Really?! But it's so cool!" She gave Dill a kindly but rough shove on the back. "Just try going around with a full name like mine- then you'll be grateful you're not any worse off." She sprang back towards her class with a wink and a little wave. "See ya later, Dill." Dill waved back, and couldn't help smiling.

The thought of the letter continued to nag at her during the week, bumping against her head like some demented paper airplane endowed with a Clouting Hex, but Dill pushed it to the back of her mind impatiently. She suddenly had a host of things to worry about, and soon, her classes were not the only ones furrowing her forehead.

She was in the hall on the way to class when it happened. Passing a corner, she saw a group of boys huddled together down the corridor branching off from hers. Slowing her footsteps out of inconspicuous curiosity, she pretended to be intensely interested in one of the portraits on the wall. Out of the corner of her eye, a torch flickered lividly on the boys' pale faces. _No- wrong_ , Dill thought. _Only_ one _pale face_. She shifted over. A curly haired girl who had been following her on their mutual way to class paused, and said a bit huffily, "Come on, you know how Flitwick jumps when we're late."

Dill made a confused hand signal behind her back for the girl to go on without her, trying to get a better glimpse of the close knit group.

" -What you're trying to say, _mate-_ "

"And he jumps enough as it is," the curly girl continued, frowning at Dill's hand.

"-Sounds like you're trying to-"

"-over analyze the hover charm, he said, but it's interesting because-"

"-You're only a filthy little Snape."

There was a small flurry of movement that began to radiate from the center of the group, but it was checked and began to recede and tighten again, like a ripple that had been frozen on the water, and then coaxed back through time until it shrank into a single dot on the surface.

Dill stepped forward, unsure, and was restrained by a nosy arm. Turning, she saw the curly headed girl, a watchful look replacing her usually pensive face. "They're Slytherins." she said shortly. "Or, at least, the one they're ganging up on is. Leave it alone" she advised, more gently.

Dill shook her head slowly. As her head swung towards the torch, she finally caught sight of the center of the group. A familiar dark head disappeared without a ripple.

Dill broke free of the girl's half-hearted restraint and surged forward over the flagstones, the hem of her robes frothing at her feet.

Pushing through the tangled thicket of arms and shoulders, she saw several bemused pimples of faces dot her vision, but she ignored them and pushed as hard as her skinny frame would allow, distress lending her strength and speed. Her hand found another. Dill pulled and a short boy popped out of the group like a shuttlecock. The boisterous crowd swirled confusedly and then re-formed, closing the passage that had been parted between them.

"What're you on about?" one of the boys leered at her.

"Sorry, er, we've gotta go. Class." Gabbling something else indistinctly over her shoulder at the puzzled-looking group, Dill pulled the boy after her down the hallway. The curly haired girl stared at her silently as they passed. She had conjured a flaxen companion to her side, whose pretty cherry mouth was puckered in confusion. "Why'd she do that?" the cherry lips asked. Dill almost saw them forming their next words before they spoke. "She's not a Slytherin, is she?"

"Well, she _is_ a Snape" her friend replied coldly, as she watched Dill's receding back. "So I suppose there's not much difference, is there?"

Dill stopped by a disused stairwell, out of breath. She turned to her similarly constricted companion. "What happened, Seizeus?"

His dark hair was plastered to the side of his face with sweat, and although he tried to grin at her, she could see that the smile did not extend to his eyes. "Been a while," he replied, the vestiges of his familiar mischievous grin hanging about his face. "I didn't know you were doing stunts now, Dill."

"And _I_ didn't know you were making friends with thugs now, Zeus" she shot back. He grimaced slightly. "Those were just, eh, acquaintances" he replied shiftily. "The sentiment around here seems to be pretty anti-Slytherin at the moment, if you hadn't noticed." Dill frowned at the wall behind his ear. Knowing Seizeus, he had probably annoyed the boys by dropping some sort of sly remark- annoying practical jokes to those who knew him, but she shuddered to think what it might cause if directed at strangers who, as Seizeus said, harbored 'anti-Slytherin sentiments'. Actually, she didn't need to think. She had pulled him out of it. Realizing what she had done, she stared at her cousin, troubled. He winced at the expression on her face. "Look, it's none of your business" he said curtly, as she was about to speak. "You might want to think of a better time for a family reunion." "But-" "Class." For one of the first times in her life, Dill felt she did not understand anything that was happening. Her mouth went a little slack. Suddenly, thinking was getting her nowhere. "What?" She spoke with difficulty, her tongue heavy. "Class." Seizeus repeated acidly. "You said you had one to get to, didn't you?"

Dill watched him walk away, but she did not see him. Her gaze was far away.


	4. Chapter 4

The light was fading in the Ravenclaw common room. Its' slow departure had turned the silver hangings grey, and they mused in the silence of the almost deserted room.

A figure was curled in one of the armchairs before the fire. Dill added a comma, and scratched her nose with the tip of her quill. The crackling of the fire almost covered a door creak. The shuffling footsteps that followed, it swept under the rug without a thought- though, if fire spared a thought to many of its' deeds, perhaps even Prometheus would not have found it in his heart to be so liberal, Dill reflected. She pretended to be studying her parchment intensely or thinking of what to write next- she left the decision to her observer. He did not wait to consider the question very long.

"Hello, Wendyl."

"Hello, Septimus" she replied, not bothering to feign any surprise.

" Already busy in our second week? Word has it you 'parted the waters' of some gang to rescue 'Zeus the other day." A log slid and crackled in the fire as the shadow passed before it and crossed towards Dill's armchair. " The story's obviously gotten a bit distorted. I assume you didn't have to wave a holy staff around, did you?" Septimus asked, half smiling. Dill gave a hollow laugh. "Very funny" she replied. "Your religio-historical timing is a bit off, though, you know. Holy staffs aren't very in vogue nowadays."

Septimus watched the smile flutter away from his chin dark and moth-like, and allowed himself to frown, his brows relaxing downwards to meet his nose. It was not a very cordial reunion, yet one could see from the creases on his pale forehead that the memory of the last one had not yet faded, before his features were compelled to tread these wearily lined paths once more.

"Was he alright?" he asked slowly, his vertically lengthened stance relaxing a bit. "He doesn't tell me about these things right now…which shows that family can be irksome, or invaluable."

He smiled gratefully at her, and Dill realized that this was her thank-you.

They attempted to talk a bit more, but in the gloomy common room their sentences ended shorter and shorter, as though they were reading a half torn paragraph, and soon short stops were replaced by an endless silence, who only paused, briefly, to gather steam to go on, and on.

Dill brooded into the fire. She was at length startled when her companion jumped abruptly. "You won't get anywhere that way, you know" he told her. His gaze traveled from the fire to her letter, and then wandered towards the window. "It's none of my business, of course, but…if you over-think things- which, apparently, you tend to do-" here he flashed her a look reminiscent of McGonagall. "Then you make it harder for yourself to _do_ anything." He laughed suddenly, and Dill looked at him strangely. "Isn't it funny," he continued, "that the house we're sorted into, while supposed to be our strength, is also our weakness?" Dill nodded tiredly. "Bet you're good with the knocker" she replied. His head swung up and down vaguely.

"Dill, we're both different" he continued. "From our family, I mean. But you're even more different than I am. You, you've taken everything that's happened to you, good and bad, and clenched it tightly in your fist. You're going to use it, I know. I can't compare to that in any way, but as someone who's standing in a different place, with a different perspective, I can give you this advice. Don't let go of what you're holding. The fact that it is a thorn in your palm makes it all the more useful. Even when it hurts, don't let go."

He stepped towards the window. "I've said all that, despite not having seen my little cousin since she wore pigtails." Although his back was turned, Dill could've sworn he was smiling. She grinned despite herself.

"And I hardly know what her family may think of me."

A strand of the quill floated gently to the floor.

"Dill" he said. "I would like to make an observation."

"Septimus," she replied with mocking politeness. "You may."

He turned back to her, and for the first time she saw his face clearly in the flickering firelight. His expression was unreadable. "It is the nature of our problems to cause us dismay."

The cloudy early September weather was giving way to colder, but clearer skies, and Dill soon bid the clouds good-bye. The days felt easier, and lighter somehow. She had grown accustomed to her classes. The castle felt like home- a second home, she reminded herself. Somewhere in London, a small Pimlico neighborhood was awaiting her patiently.

She didn't see Seizeus again, and spoke to Septimus only in passing; but his words still seemed to glow like a talisman under her skin. She hadn't, as of yet, deciphered their most intricate meanings. However, they struck a chord within her, and she somehow felt that Septimus had known exactly what to say, and had picked that moment in front of the fire, months before. She still didn't know what the coming months had in store, but she would somehow find her way through them- and, she reasoned, unconsciously using Septimus' logic; -why should she create more mind blocks and hurdles for herself, when there were enough already? Hurdles that she would clear in time, it was true (though, past her newfound confidence, she wasn't quite sure how, yet.) Dill knew now that there was more to resolution than a few hasty foolish words under a hat. The knowledge made her feel a bit older, and slower- although, maybe that was the same thing.

That evening, Dill got up from her vanishing treacle tart and moved towards the large doors along with the rest of the noisy, post-prandial crowd. Through the tangle of full forms, she could just make out Pam and a tawny owl who perched on her shoulder. Remembering suddenly, she hurried over to them. "Could I ask a favour?"

Dill watched through the narrow stone aperture as Pam's owl took wing into the dusk, her letter clamped in its' beak. Its' owner had been more than willing to lend any fully-feathered related services, and she now stood beside Dill on the dropping-strewn owlery floor, uncharacteristically silent. Dill tried to hide her enormous relief, but Pam was uncannily perceptive. "It was important, wasn't it?" she said knowingly when Dill thanked her. Before Dill could stumble upon a better explanation than, "er-" Pam grinned at her and said, "Well, you should come celebrate. It'll be your first Puff party, right?" Dill blinked, confused. "Puff Party?"

"Yeah, in our common room. It's fun. Doesn't get too rowdy, either" she added, with a somewhat reassuring wink. "As thanks for the favor, maybe?"

Dill opened her mouth and expected a lengthy excuse to trip out over the lip, so she was surprised to hear only one word. The warm feeling, that of sliding into a fresh bath, unloosed itself from the gushing monosyllable who, in turn, unloosened her limbs, who gently opened path for the answer. She grinned. "Sure."

The Hufflepuff common room, by dint of being close to the kitchens, was able to procure substantial amounts of food at a fairly short notice. Dill discovered this when she saw the table of Fizzing Whizbees, sandwiches and butterbeer along the wall of the cozily bright common room. Not too hungry, she grabbed a bottle of butterbeer and followed Pam over to a knot of 5th years who seemed to be in some sort of general charge. Pam made introductions as they went, in the way some chefs flip pancakes. Dill could barely remember half of the people she'd met since entering the room. Most of them had greeted her warmly, if not sometimes a little bemusedly. Her conductress stopped squarely in front of a tall 5th year boy to introduce Dill, a little less haphazardly this time. He nodded and said, "You two just missed the Communal Circle, but the rest of the evening's relaxed." Here he paused to look at Pam a little questioningly. "Can't help feeling that you were late on purpose, perhaps? Eh?" Pam heaved a heavy sigh. "Don't get me wrong, I'll give people advice any day; but I'm pretty good at encouraging _myself,_ thanks- and they take _forever_. Can't sit still that long." As if to prove her point, she jogged a tight circle around them in a twinkling, leaving Dill blinking. The newly introduced Stephen coupled a sigh with a good-natured grin and said, "I covered for you this time, but you should try to take them more seriously. You'll see; when schoolwork gets harder, you'll appreciate these things more." Pam puffed her cheeks out but said nothing. "And make sure you tell your friend about the clean-up process" he added offhandedly. "The house elves have enough work as it is." "I know" Pam replied automatically.

Despite pronouncing herself 'stuffed', Pam accepted all kinds of food offers, even some Cockroach Cluster that Dill was too afraid to eat, and regaled everyone with her impression of Professor Binns- which, somehow, was lively. Dill wracked her brain over this oxymoronic anomaly in between butterbeers, and decided that it was part of her companions' nature, and not, on the whole, really worth muddling over.

She was complaining tiredly to a bored looking second year about the fact that the Ravenclaw common room was unnecessarily hard to get in to, in comparison to Hufflepuff's, when a flaxen, cherry mouthed apparition floated before her eyes. The second year gratefully fled as the girl engaged Dill in conversation.

"I'm Hannah! I was there, you know, in the hall when, er… I don't know if you remember me-" Dill frowned, then nodded warily. "Yeah…"

The girl smiled, looking relieved. "I wanted to apologize for Penelope-my friend- you two are in the same house, right? But she said she didn't talk to you, much… anyway, I know she was a bit rude-" Hannah colored slightly, and Dill could see the effort it took her to say a word against her friend. With a bit of newfound respect, she continued to listen, nodding once in a while in a way that had very little to do with attentiveness. "…but she's a good person, honest, and I think it was all a bit of a misunderstanding…um, so…" Hannah trailed off, gazing worriedly at Dill, who realized too late that she had been dozing off. She cleared her throat hurriedly. "No- you're, um, right, sorry-don't worry-" an unnaturally loud laugh interrupted her, and Pam appeared, throwing an arm around Dill's shoulder. "Hey, Dill, you're _spluttering_ tired-out of it-oh, hey, H-hannah- hope she wasn't boring you, er-" she suddenly seemed to run out of steam and clanked to a halt, looking a bit awkward. Dill grinned, shrugging with difficulty at Hannah, who flashed a dazzling smile back and disappeared presently as a tall form passed before her in the crowd. Pam made a strange gurgling note in her throat, and finished the rest of Dill's butterbeer.

Dill was still staring at the empty bottle sadly when the Hufflepuffs made good on their threat to start a dog pile. At last excusing herself, she disposed of the bottle as Pam had told her to and left, creeping along the dark, silent corridors like a small shadow. The castle seemed even darker than necessary in comparison to the cozily lit, lively common room she had just left, and it took longer than usual for her eyes to become accustomed to the darkness. The walls, having donned dark blue cloaks, seemed even more secretive and silent than by day, when they wore their marbled peach ones. She paused a couple times, heart in throat, when she thought she heard footsteps or a lone voice, and once had to hide behind a suspiciously handy tapestry as Filch glided by muttering darkly. Finally she made it back to the top of the spiral staircase. The eagle clacked its' beak, and Dill yawned, letting herself in.

The next day Dill worked beside Pam in potions. Pam's face was tired and her dark circles loomed strangely through the fumes emanating from her cauldron. Dill hastily stopped her from adding a palmful of uncrushed beetle heads to the potion they were supposed to be making, and redirected the sleepy girls' hands to their mortar and pestle. "Tired, are you?" she said, grinning, as Pam began to mush them slowly, ruefully. The other girl frowned, grumpy. "Stayed up 'till 12…I dunno what Stephen was thinking, he's usually more responsible…guess everyone had one too many butterbeers" she whispered, grinning slyly at Dill, who quickly disguised her laugh as a cough.

Dill began to look forward more to their lessons with the Hufflepuffs, but unfortunately they only had one class together. However, that would soon change. One morning when she was coming down the spiral staircase, rubbing the sleep from her eyes and pausing to brush a knot from her bangs, she saw a crowd before the small notice board. Peeking around several tall people gave her the garbled gist of a plain sign which said, from what she could make out; '…year flying les…and Hufflepuffs…ay.' She puzzled over this phrase aloud. The long necked Penelope Clearwater, who was standing by her, appeared to at once grasp that Dill was not practicing Latin, but was trying to figure out the new notice, and told her that they were to start flying lessons with the Hufflepuffs. This curly girl had become more friendly towards her ever since (as Dill suspected) Hannah helpfully put a good word in. Dill thanked her and walked away, excitement bubbling up in her stomach. Finally, flying lessons- and with the Hufflepuffs!

At breakfast she was so happy that she smiled broadly at a surprised group of Slytherins who were trying to pass by to their table. Detaching himself from the group, Seizeus walked up to her. Dill's grin became uncertain and pocket sized, for familiarity's sake. "This isn't an apology" he began before she could greet him, "but I've got the world's most nagging brother, and he wanted me to say thanks."

Dill, unable to take the sight of him shifting his feet and wrestling with an almost penitent expression, quickly begged him to think nothing of it. He looked at her appraisingly. "You haven't become very stuck up, for a Ravenclaw." "And you're still pretty nice, for a Slytherin" she retorted, half smiling. He shook his head as he walked away to join his cronies at the table beyond hers. "You have my dear brother to thank for that, little cuz."

The sky was bright and sunny, tingeing the pale clouds blue as the Ravenclaw first years walked out across the grounds. Dill tilted her head up, letting the breeze play with her hair. She looked excitedly towards the space where the Hufflepuffs were already gathered in a neat row before the sharp faced Madam Hooch.

They formed their own line in front of the Hufflepuffs. Dill, who was suddenly and weirdly self-conscious, had the mad, flashing thought that to an outsider it would appear that they were about to duel. Madame Hooch's strict voice didn't help. A couple of Hufflepuffs down, Pam winked at her encouragingly. Dill tried to smile back. The hectoring voice drifted back towards them. "Now, say 'Up!'" "Up!"

The broom jerked, then jumped into Dill's hand. She gripped it tightly until a broom was by gotten, by hook or by crook, into every other persons' hands, and listened a bit distantly to the next set of instructions, twisting the broom from side to side. After a few false starts and nervous giggles, Madam Hooch counted down and lifted the silver whistle around her neck to her moistly pursed lips. Dill kicked the ground, hard, and rose into the air.

The air rushed past her on its' way down to take her space on the ground- but she was going up. A laugh bubbled out of her with uncontainable glee as she rose to the level of a tree's crown, light as a feather, and then, leaning over the broom handle, soared forward, loop-de-looping through the clear air and feeling the wind catch at her face and stomach. The thin but steady broom supported her from underneath, and the headwind pressed into her temples. Pulling up and out of it, she nudged her splintery steed with her knees, arcing in a graceful parabola, and watched from her perch as her classmates whirled about below her in the sun, with differing states of panic and proficiency.

She was flying! Suspended on nothing, toes dangling downwards towards the ground but not even thinking of touching it. Realizing it again, she shot forward and for a furtive instant of rebellious joy let go of the broom handle, throwing her arms out beside her in wings and tracing the air with her fingertips as she flew over the impossibly yellow-green grass, the wind rushing boisterously into her face. Finally feeling a bit embarrassed, she slowed and let the sudden lack of gust toss her bangs back into her face, her robes billowing slightly about her knees as she turned back. She zig-zaggingly drifted slowly down to earth, swishing from side to side like a fallen leaf, reluctantly heeding the silver whistle's call.

Her first foot touched the ground, taking something out of her, and when both were reunited with the soft loam Dill stood still over her broomstick, mouth dry and windswept. _I finally flew._ Not just in dreams or on a borrowed toy broomstick this time. She actually flew. Her heart beating wildly with pulsing wings, she slowly brought her attention back towards the group and tried to listen. She really did try. But all she could remember later was Madam Hooch's dry remark as she felt the ghost of the winds' sting on her cheek, about Quidditch tryouts being a waited-for type of thing, and Pam's face when they started walking back towards the castle, her voice saying, "You're a really great flyer, Dill!"


	5. Chapter 5

"So, what did old Nick say to Filch when he caught Peeves sticking the doors shut?"

"…"

" 'Don't lose your head over it' ".

"Seriously, Pam…"

"No, you're right. He actually said, 'Well, it was an old cupboard anyway.' "

The first thoughtful pause. Dill sighed with relief.

"Not very clever of the old polter-whatever-you-call-'em. Overdid himself over Halloween, I think. Mind you, he wasn't the only thing that got overdone."

Dill looked at her friend in what she hoped was a severe manner over the top of the books and papers in front of her. "Your essay is going to be severely _under_ done if you don't start working on it now."

Pam leaned back in her chair with a devil-may-care grin. "Not bad, Dill, but unfortunately it only proves that _I_ am still the queen of jokes around here. Especially since my paper will also be- a joke. I'm shooting for something similar in my Potions grade, in case you were wondering." Dill shook her head.

They were sitting in the twilit library at a table that was unevenly book-and-paper strewn on Dill's side, and emptier on Pam's side, ostensibly working on an essay examining the common ingredients of restorative draughts. Dill flattened the tail of her parchment and continued scratching her quill across the uneven surface, filling her nose alternately with the scent of pages and ineluctable vapors of ink that hung in the air, awaiting her nostrils. Turning her head from book to leaf.

A dark smudge had been waiting and fiddling with some books in the corner of her vision, and as she began to watch, it grew larger to stand before her. Pam, back to books, didn't notice until he was almost in front of their table. The smudge resolved itself into Septimus. "Er, Dill" he said, voice low to avoid the wrath of Madam Pince. "D'you know where the medicinal section is?" "Oh, right behind the shelf you were looking at." "Oh." He blinked owlishly. "But, Septimus, you also need _Temperature & Temperment; Warming & Cooling properties of Maegical Herbes. _Wait, I think I've got it somewhere here… the more common sense ones, but then also some interesting stuff about Eastern medicinal potions, you know…" as she moved book piles, Pam got a shifting impression of him past the unpredictably moving stacks. "Hey, er, Sep- you're in Herbology and Potions with us, right, er, Sepius- Hell's Pickles, your name is as weird as Dill's" Pam muttered.

Septimus smiled. "Our family has a way with uncommon names."

"Huh?! Fam-"

Dill laughed. "Found it. Sorry, I forgot to introduce you two. Septimus, this is Pam. Pam, this is my cousin, Sep-ti-mus. But if you think _our_ names are weird, you should hear his siblings' names- or, on second thought, maybe not" she added sympathetically, as Pam's peachy head seemed about to burst.

"But, Septimus… that sounds like-"

"Seven? Yeah."

Pam frowned. "Why Seven?"

Septimus sighed. He pulled out the only vacant seat and sat down with a sidelong glance at his cousin. "Looks like she's in for the old story, eh?" Dill giggled loudly, unable to restrain herself. "I dunno, can you take it, Pam?" Pam looked from one sly mirthful mask to the other. "Spill the tea, you two, and worry about my poor old brain later."

Septimus grinned, and his voice settled into a familiar niche, a groove that had held it many times before.

"Well, right after my mother and father got married, they went traveling together for a little while. A honeymoon of sorts, I suppose. One night, when they were staying at an old inn, they met an oracle- you know, just one of those travelling fortuneteller types who was probably looking for someplace to earn her bread. Anyway, this oracle offered to tell their fortune. I don't think my mother would have allowed it, normally, but they were married young and curious about their future- and maybe a little tipsy besides. And so, the oracle looked into their future and told them that they would have seven children, one after the other. When my mother, in aggravation, inquired further, the only thing the sybil could tell her was that the oldest would be named 'Onus' ".

Even in the warmth of storytelling, a shadow seemed to flicker across Septimus' brow. Pam, not noticing it, said; "So you have six older brothers and sisters?"

"Well, no. I'm the second oldest. You see, right before me and my twin, Seizeus, were born (I am older, by the way. You should know. Dill, don't snicker at me) our granddad Septimus died-"

"And, unable to resist the tradition of naming children after their dead, they named him Septimus, and started counting down instead" Dill finished her favorite part of the story despite the annoyed look from its' original teller.

"And, although unable to resist interrupting, Dill is right."

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"We started by counting up, but finished by counting down. A little backwards, my family, but oh well." He sat back and watched Pam's successive expressions.

"Weird" she said. "Wacky, but cool. Seven kids? Must be a hassle." Septimus nodded, pulling the book towards him. "Right, you're working on this too. I'm guessing I should look at warming properties…?" He looked to Dill, who nodded.

"I knew you were in our class" Pam said proudly. "You sound smart, definitely a Ravenclaw. But I should know your brother too. I'm normally good with faces." Septimus turned over a leaf of _Warming & Cooling, etc., _and said lightly, "No, you wouldn't. He's a Slytherin. Like the rest of them" he added in an undertone.

Dill swirled her nib in ink as Pam digested this information.

"Good thing too, I thought my senses were failing me" she said finally, her expression exaggeratedly relieved. Dill snorted carefully away from her paper. Septimus appeared to be engrossed in the book, but there was a slight smile playing about his lips.

Pam was right; she had not been prepared for their next potions lesson. She sweated slightly in the cool dungeon room as Dill tried to give her helpful tips in one ear, and Septimus from time to time made unhelpful observations in the other, at the same time asking Dill for advice.

Out of the three, Dill was the best at potions- it could almost be said that she excelled at the subtle art, no doubt partly thanks to the fact that she had grown up with two expert potion makers. While Lily never consciously tried to teach her, she discussed interesting brewing concepts quite often over the dinner table, and there were more than the usual number of potions books around the house, thanks to her father's obsession. After her letter arrived, Severus had taken Dill aside to teach her 'the necessary basics'. They were discovered by a stern-faced Lily, who pretended to be disapproving and told Dill's father off for 'trying to get Dill ahead', but was unable to hide a smile and dropped a few hints over the bubbling cauldron. Dill now looked at the one before her and grinned, calling to mind everything her parents had taught her. She turned to Pam's potion, which had begun to hiss.

The remnants of scrambled eggs and a few fruit pips littered the golden plate that Dill pushed away from her contentedly. Most of the tables were still sparsely populated. It was Saturday, and with no pressing business to attend to, most people liked to sit a little long over their pumpkin juice. Dill got up, gathered some scraps from the table which she slipped napkin-wrapped into her pocket with unnecessary stealth, and wandered over to the Hufflepuff table where Pam was still going at her breakfast full tilt. Dill swung her leg over the bench and was greeted with a friendly grunt. Eventually a swallow was effected, and Pam was about to say something when she paused and looked at something over her right shoulder. Dill followed her gaze. Two identical black haired boys were walking up to them, conferring in low voices. One of them paused and gave a little wave. Pam gasped in recognition.

"You're the Slytherin, his brother!"

Seizeus smirked and flung an arm around his twin's shoulders.

"Yes, my name _is_ 'The Slytherin, his brother.' "

"And mine is 'His brother, the Slytherin's.' " Septimus added, along with his arm.

"What's _your_ name?" they chorused.

Pam was doubled over with laughter, and Dill shot a half amused, half warning smile at the twins over the trembling curve of her back. It straightened, dividing them into two uneven panels. "Hello, Seizeus. My name's Pam."

The four likely, yet unlikely companions sat talking together until the food evaporated from the golden plates before them. Dill had mostly satisfied herself after discussing with her cousins the most recent problems in their classes, and, ascertaining that so far only herbology and transfiguration posed as obstacles to their intellect, she watched contentedly as they stood up to leave. "Keep well, cousin," Seizeus raised his hand with lazy grace, and followed the crowd towards the flung open doors. "And don't nag me too much about the waterglasses- McGonagall didn't seem to mind" Septimus added a bit sheepishly over his shoulder, before turning to catch up to his brother.

Pam peeked at the fondly disapproving look that was slow to leave Dill's face, so reminiscent of Lily's. "You can be such a mother hen sometimes!" she cried, laughing. "Don't mother them too much, though. They'll be fine." Dill snorted _._

November slipped away to December, and the castle was surrounded by soft drifts of snow that the Ravenclaws had to trudge through to reach the welcome warmth of the greenhouses. The stone walls of the castle grew colder, and the wind could be heard whistling round Ravenclaw tower at night. Filch could be relied upon to appear periodically in any hallway you were trying to hurry through on your way to class, more than willing to take a break from cleaning the rude messages Peeves had inscribed in strangely lasting fog breath on the windows to deliver a wheezingly bad tempered tirade. Apart from him, however, the castle was busy getting itself into holiday mood, with wreathes and baubles appearing overnight on the balustrades and armor, to the steel helmets' chagrin. In the week before break began, lessons slackened off and professors could be seen lavishly decorating the giant fir trees that Hagrid hauled into the Great Hall. Flitwick even offered to teach them how to enchant the orbs that would hang on the green boughs to shimmer softly, waving off the stray comment about exams- although Dill suspected that his incentive was to decrease the time he would otherwise have had to spend on the task himself.

Dill was sitting in her favorite armchair, stroking the black cat that was curled in her lap and gazing into the common room fire lazily. A few older Ravenclaws sat scattered abound the room, reading or talking cozily. The arched black windows framed the scene at intervals, isolating the room in a bright pocket of warmth. It was not uncommon for the dormitory door to open several times at random. Whenever this would happen, someone would invariably come in, wander around in a bemused, searching manner, and disappear again, re-materializing every second or third time the door opened.

Dill had finished _her_ packing for the day. Her trunk was still half empty, but after some hours of folding and gathering her things from the most unlikely corners, an exercise which culminated in wandering around for a quarter of an hour in search of a sock that had turned out to be in her hand, she decided to take a break for the day, and toasted before the fire with the cherished pair of soft black-furred ears between her fingers. . Dill stared into the logs, preferring to treat consciousness as a bath she could slide in and out of at will.

An unexpectedly harsh knock on the door roused her slightly, and after a pause followed by the familiar clacking sound, it swung open and Septimus walked in. Appearing not to see her, he glided past her chair quickly. Muttering darkly, he threw himself into a seat a few feet away from hers. Fully awake now, Dill sat up and watched his splintering fingers unfold a small note, trembling slightly. She stood up, and the cat jumped off with a hiss. "Sorry, Shadow" Dill said, bending down. The flustered feline warmed under her touch, and, rubbing against Dill's leg, suffered herself to be picked up and cradled over to the gloomy boy.

"Shadow wants to read, too" she sang softly. "He-ey, Sep…what's wrong?" Dill asked suddenly as he turned to her, his face a crumpled paper clenched by the fist of gloom and anger. "Put the cat down and read this." He thrust the slip at her. She gave him a look and then let Shadow jump to the floor.

The note was small and smudged. A few lines ran across it in large, heavy hand.

 _Keep messing with filth and your hands will get dirty. Renonce your blood smirching ties before it's too late._ _Our patience won't last long._

Beneath the words a strange symbol was scrawled in place of a signature.

"They spelled 'renounce' wrong" Dill muttered automatically. Septimus laughed mirthlessly, recalling her to the situation at hand.

"Oh yes, that cinches everything! Dill, I don't think he cares about spelling _renounce_. Spelling was never his strong suit, anyway" he muttered. She caught his arm urgently. "You mean you know who it is?"

"Yes" he replied wearily. "But that knowledge makes it all the worse."

Dill was staring at the paper again, fuming. "Who would even do such a-" "My older brother". Septimus' profile was dark and troubled _._

Dill smoothed the wrinkled paper with her fingernail thoughtfully. "Onus…"

"Yes. _The one, the first, the very summit_

 _Beyond whose point you can only plummet…"_

He glowered at a small first year girl who had come through the unpredictably swinging door in search of her sweater. She squeaked and ran back inside.

" _Septimus."_

He turned, surprised. "What?" "Who was it that told me not to brood?" He smiled sadly, remembering the cloudy day that now seemed so long ago. "Fat load of good it'll do you now, coming from someone who can't take their own advice." Dill elbowed him sharply. "Ow! What was that for?!" "For being a prick" she replied, standing. "It was good advice that I use to this day, so you better start using it too. Otherwise it'll be no good to anyone." She picked up her sock. The note was still entangled in the wires of her fingers, and she let it flutter into his lap. "Don't let a silly note get to you, Septimus" Dill said, hoping her voice sounded more confident than she felt. "Onus will have to do better than that if he wants to scare anyone." She yawned. "I'm off to bed. Blood smirching ties need lots of sleep."

Septimus smiled weakly. "Thanks, Dill" he said quietly. "But don't tell anyone about the note…yet." Dill, just past his chairback, frowned slightly at the back of his head and then kept walking towards the dormitory.

Staring at the bed hangings above her, she tried to forget the note, but it grew larger, knocking elbows against the walls of her mind. Squeezing her eyes shut, Dill saw the last line engraved on the insides of her eyelids. _Our patience won't last long._ Shivering slightly, she gathered the blankets more tightly around her and snuggled under them until only her nose stuck out. As her body warmed, the spasmodic shivers grew fewer and more apart. Dill checked that her toes were well covered and then curled up, closing her eyes tightly. It would have to last a while yet.


End file.
